Every time I pass a Hostess display in the supermarket, I think about my son when he was growing up and how he dearly loved Ding Dongs. These were highly processed chocolate cake treats with a cream-filled center and covered in chocolate frosting. They were individual, mini cakes, which were foil-wrapped. One-serving cakes that came twelve to a box.

Generally speaking, I did not provide these treats to my children often. Mostly because the ingredients listed on the box read eerily like an inventory of chemicals used in the Manhattan Project to create the atom bomb. I was never sure if I was placing their digestive systems in peril by allowing them to have these questionable snacks. I didn't want them becoming science experiments whereby the government might one day show up at our door and spirit them away to Area 51 for observation.

Since we were also on a very strict budget (I believe Depression era conservative would just about cover it), treats such as Ding Dongs were far too expensive given the small amount of product for the price. On the other hand, graham crackers came in larger quantities, were more reasonably priced, and had ingredients in them that I could pronounce and recognize - not to mention I would feel relatively safe in the notion that they would not grow a third eye after ingesting them over a period of time.

When my son did eventually wear me down and I would buy a box of these laboratory concoctions for him and his younger sister, this is when the games began. He knew from the start he was supposed to share these coveted snacks equally with his little sister. That meant six for him and six for her. I also instructed him that the Ding Dongs had to last for at least six days, as once they were gone no new ones would be forthcoming until payday. I also added that if he and his sister glowed in the dark after consuming said processed food, there would be no more Ding Dongs allowed in the apartment. He swore that he would abide by these rules. (Right and if you believe that I have some Guamanian war bonds I would love to unload on you).

This clever little lad was like Yogi and Boo Boo with the picnic baskets at Jelly Stone Park. His brain was running on overtime to see just how he could con, cajole and if need be, out-and-out 'nick' his sister's inventory of goodies.

Once left to his own devices, he would devour his ration in one or two sittings. The child had a wicked awful addiction to sweets in general, but especially to Ding Dongs. He then proceeded to commit shameless acts to capture the rest of the box of coveted cakes. You have heard of "all's fair in love and war," well, this was war and all bets were off. His poor sister was lucky if she got to have even one morsel of these coveted snacks.

One evening when I arrived home from work I was confronted by my outraged eight year old daughter (hands on hips and foot tapping at high-speed), who informed me with righteous indignation, that when she went to get her after school snack, the box of Ding Dongs were nowhere to be found. So, in an effort to talk her down off her proverbial high horse, I opened an immediate investigation of the alleged crime. I followed the procedure of the gendarmes in Casablanca and rounded up the usual suspects, however, we only had one primary candidate and it was my fair-haired male 'issue'.

I called my eleven year old son out of his room to discuss this dilemma with him. There was no physical evidence to confront him with, i.e. the entire box had disappeared and no trace had been found on the premises. (Knowing my son, he would not have hesitated to consume the box along with the snacks in an effort to cover his tracks).

I began an inquest on the missing Ding Dongs Captain Queeg style. My son stuck to his story that he had only eaten his share of the Ding Dongs hence the chocolate on his breath was purely justifiable. He tried his best to convince me that his sister had suffered some sort of memory lapse or had blocked out the fact that she had eaten her share and just forgot. This explanation very nearly caused my daughter to explode with apoplexy. Her face turned eggplant purple and I swear I saw steam coming out of her ears.

I knew this was not the truth coming from my son, but I also knew that it was his addiction talking and not my normally forthright child. Honest Abe he wasn't, but for the most part he was a pretty straight shooter. However, when it came to matters of sweets of any sort he easily shifted to the 'dark' side.

After coming up empty in my investigation and being unable to crack my chief suspect, my final ruling was that they would be back to large boxes of graham crackers and Nilla Wafers, when on sale, since the Ding Dongs did not last. I also seriously considered finding a twelve step program for my son for his Ding Dong addiction.

His sister was vowing to get him in his sleep, so I made sure his door was sufficiently barricaded until she cooled down. If she had had her way she would have become an only child with absolutely no regrets over this entire matter.

A couple of weeks later, while I was getting a blanket from an overhead cabinet in the bedroom, something fell out and hit me on the head. It was not heavy and it bounced off and landed on the floor. I looked down to see the empty Ding Dong box lying at my feet (Exhibit "A"). I decided to dispose of it before my daughter returned. It would have given her the evidence she needed to circumvent a jury trial and go straight to the punishment phase. If left up to her, I do believe she would have imposed some sort of extreme version of Sharia Law on him and a beheading would not have been out of the question. As it was he was never going to live this episode down. She made sure his life was a living hell whenever the opportunity arose. Trust me, this female child of mine was just the hairpin that could do it too!

Kids ... Got to love the little buggers because there is a hard and fast rule of no returns or exchanges (God knows I certainly tried to renegotiate those terms over the years, especially in their teen years). There were days when I contemplated running away and joining a convent of cloistered nuns. I could easily do 'not' talking and working in a vegetable garden all day.

I did, however, receive a very special reward for sticking their childhoods out. I finally became a grandparent and that is the best job on the planet.

Thanks kids, you managed to give us all a happy ending! Love Mom